


Easy as Pirohzki

by girlsloveyaoi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Rage filled blonde bratt, Super calm Otabek, super supportiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8916121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsloveyaoi/pseuds/girlsloveyaoi
Summary: All Yurio wants is to make pirozhki for his grandfather. All Otabek wants is for Yurio to succeed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to a head canon on tumblr, and for wondrgirls permission to write this. Her head cannon can be found at this link.
> 
> http://wondrgirl.tumblr.com/post/154584721663/headcanon-that-yurio-tries-to-cook-pirozhki-bc-he
> 
> Enjoy!

Warmed milk, eggs, flour, yeast, salt, sugar. Throw it into a bowl and cover it. Wait an hour. The dough should rise, and the cabbage and beef should be cooked in the meantime, until tender. Easy peasy. That’s how grandpa always did it, in an effortless display.

“Fuck you!” Yurio hopped from foot to foot, pointing. “Fuck you, fuck the stupid chicken that laid you, and fuck your shitty shells.” Said shell still taunted him, stuck in the sorry excuse for overly wet dough, no matter how he tried to pluck it free. Hissing and ignoring the stinging, burnt fingers, Yurio tried his best to fish it out, only to lose sight of it in the thick, quick sand like goop.

It didn’t even matter anymore. It was all ruined. Teeth grit hard enough to snap, Yurio grabbed his cat before it could ceremoniously hop on the counter. Thankfully, she was used to his fuming and continued purring.

“Stop being happy. This is serious.” He lifted her, staring into big blue eyes. “Grandpa’s pirozhki has to be perfect. /Perfect/ kitty." Another pur. She mocked his anger, but was placed gently aside, taking cover under a table as glass met the wall in a messy kiss. 

"This is bullshit!” Burnt cabbage haphazardly flew as the pan clattered against the counter. Deep breathes, Yurio. This was for grandpa. He could try a dozen more times if he needed. Hands buried themselves in blonde hair, hair that was now covered in very moist dough as hand washing is not a prerequisite to temper tantrums.

Yurio stared at his distorted reflection in the fridge, mouth agape for several seconds before he released his frustrations in a harpy like shriek.

“Oh my GOOOOD.”

A broom hit the ceiling, a now weekly occurrence. Really his neighbor should have learned by now, Yurio jumping up and down over the spot. 

“What?! TOO LOUD! IS IT TOO LOUD?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU, YOU FUCKING PIG BITCH.” Panting, he heard the unmistakable tinkling of his phone, recognizing the ring tone and darting towards it.

“What Otabek?” Otabek hesitated, eyeing the drawn curtains of the fourth floor apartment. 

“I’m outside." 

"Congratulations. And you, what? Ya want a reward or something?”

“…Noooo. I want to hang out.” Like I specified in that text I sent you. Yesterday. Ya know, the one you responded to with, ‘Stop by at 1.’ He thought it loudly in the comfort of his own head. It was never wise to say such things when Yurio was panting like that. 

Yurio paused, then cursed. Then cursed some more, but Otabeck wasn’t great with Russian, it could have been something about fucking a chicken in a shell but that didn’t make much sense…

Yurio pulled back the curtain, glaring. Otabek could see his nostrils flare from his relatively safe distance away. 

“I need a shower first.” The line disconnected, Otabek shrugging. He’d been subjected to worse moods courtesy of a pissed of Yurio. He remained on his bike, moving onto the sidewalk. Yurio emerged twenty minutes later, Otabek still in the same spot, scrolling through his phone.

“Hangry?” Otabek inquired.

“What the fuck are you talking about?“

"Hungry and angry. Merge them. Hangry." 

"Just angry.” His stomach betrayed him, growling. Snatching the helmet from Otabek, he stuck his nose in the air, ignoring his pink tinted cheeks. “Just take me to eat.”

“Ok.” 

Yurios mutter almost went unheard. “You could have came upstairs, the door was unlocked for you.” 

Lips twitched. Otabeks leather jacket cooled Yurios red cheeks, and Otabek held the hands that wrapped around his waist for a few seconds before grabbing his bike handles. He took his time, thinking a long ride would mellow Yurio out. It did, for a little bit, particularly as he sped through a yellow light, Yurio flipping off oncoming traffic as his hair whipped about. Yurio was fresh faced and smiling the second they hopped off his bike, and if Otabek knew how short lived that would be, he would have kept riding.

All he did was ask what the difference was between pierogis and pirozhki…

“They’re totally different! Why do you even have to ask? Read the fucking description, I’m not a tour guide into the world of Russian and Polish cuisine.”

Otabek stared at the Russian letters, then at Yurio, then back at the letters. “I’ll work on that.” Grumpy. 

He thought that would end it. Again, he sorely underestimated the rage of his little blonde.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Otabek wasn’t very good at guessing the inner workings of a pissed of Yurio. Too many things pissed off his wee boyfriend. Well, sometimes boyfriend. Depending on who you asked, what day it was, the color of yesterday’s moon, and other shit Otabek couldn’t be hassled with. It didn’t bother him much, and when it did, it is still nowhere near whatever was currently bothering Yurio, who was still stabbing his potato.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”

“Ok. I’m just asking because you’re stabbing your potato.” A lot. Like, even for you.

“I’m tenderizing it, Beka.”

“I do not think that is how potatoes work.”

“Oh what, you’re a fucking expert on potatoes now? Because, you’re wrong! It does work like that! Everything works like that! You try and try and practice and stab and take another stab and either things happen, or they /don’t/. That’s it. Just…that’s life.” Yurio’s knife hooked into his steak, the whole steak brought to his mouth. He chomped, shook his head, tore a piece off. Otabek didn’t usually pull his trump card and never in public, but Yurio was beginning to resemble the tiger on his shirt, blood dripping down his chin from his rare steak. He was all claws and teeth, brows knit so furiously Otabek feared they’d freeze that way. He touched Yurio’s knee from under the table, patting it gently.

"Kitten.“ At least Yurio looked at him, wad of partially chewed meat poking from his cheek. 

"I’m /fine/, Beka.” Yurio sighed, defeated. “It’s none of your concern, so just drop it already or take me home.”

There was no reasoning with him when he was like this, Otabek nodding and eating in silence. They managed to walk around some, and visited a few stores. They even managed a pair of matching boots, with a strip of leopard print running up the side of otherwise black boots. It wasn’t so bad, especially when they hopped back on his bike. He took the long way back, and was glad he did as fingers tightened around his belly as they pulled up to his apartment. Otabek grabbed with bag with their old shoes, parking his bike.

"I will carry them. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?“

"God, Beka, I already told you the door is unlocked.” So thick, how clear did he have to be? He managed minimal flushing when Otabek grinned, silently following Yurio to the fourth floor, dropping his bag by the sofa and making use of his bathroom,. He sniffed the air upon his exit, zipping his pants.Huh. His apartment smelled like cabbage. 

“You cook regularly?” He asked after he’d dried his hands, but Yurio wasn’t in the living room, and Otabek took a few steps toward the kitchen. He avoided the broken glass, but he didn’t miss the flour on the stove, or how Yurio shoved everything in the dishwasher with little slams.

"It’s Grandpa’s birthday soon. I want to take care of him. He makes pirozhki whenever I see him.“ He rubbed his arms, peering at Otabek from beneath a curtain of blonde. "I can’t cook for shit.”

“How many times did you try?” Hey, there were multiple pans dirtied. No glaring daggers at him, Yurio.

"Just three-ish, okay? It’s not a big deal, cooking just…okay, I should know how to do this but it…” Kicking the dishwasher closed, Yurio pulled at his hair again, moaning in irritation. “Uggggh can we just not.“

"Of course. It’s okay, Kitten. Can I help clean?”

“It’s not your mess, Beka. I got it.” He paused, considering Otabek, and waltzed over. He still needed to stand on tiptoes to plant his kiss. It ended quickly, they always did. Yurio wasn’t quite ready for much more, and Otabek …if he was ready, he never said a word, just accepting the scant affection received.

“I’m tired, Beka. Wanna do something tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll text you. Get sleep soon, Yurio. Tomorrow will be better." 

Otabek was so convincing Yurio near believed him. He finished cleaning minutes later, and grabbed his cat, tossing her down on the bed with him, snuggling up to the sounds of her purring. He woke up the same way, save for his phone vibrating. A bleary rub of his eyes, and he’d the mind to chew out whoever the fuck was calling him at eight in the morning.Until he saw who it was. Yurio picked up, frowning.

"Everything okay, Beka?”

“Your door is locked.”

It took a second for Yurio to get what that meant. He tossed his phone down and grabbed a sweatshirt, tucking messy strands beneath the hood as he scampered to the door.

“What? What’s up? You okay?” Eyes quickly fell to the bags in either of Otabecks hands, brows furrowing. “The fuck is this?”

“You hate to cook. I do not mind the task.” He waltzed in, heading towards the kitchen. “Let’s make your grandfather pirozhki.”

Yurio had barely shut the door, mouth agape. “Y-you…It’s eight in the morning, you psycho, and you came here to help me make pirozhki?”

“It’s important to you, therefore, it is important to me. So, yes. Yes, I did.” His head tilted just slightly, Yurio at a loss for words, torn between throwing him out for being so ridiculously early on one of his rare days off, and hugging the living shit out of him. He settled for leaning on the door, toying with the knob. 

“…Okay, but I don’t expect anything good to come from this, and neither should you. And I have all of the ingredients, so I don’t know why you bought more.”

"Common mistakes while making dough include inactive yeast. I figured we will test your yeast and try a few different recipes.”

Yurio blinked, curious. “You can test yeast?!”

“Yup. That’s what google said. If the dough wasn’t rising, it may be bad yeast.”

“…So, sticky dough…what’s up with that?”

“Too much moisture, either too much water or egg.”

"Did you google that too?“

"No, that I knew from practice. I do cook, regularly.”

A little glimmer of hope shone through, Yurio jabbing his thumb towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna brush my teeth. Put coffee on and I…I guess we’ll get started." 

Was it him or did today just seem so much better than yesterday? Otabek had that effect on him. Better still, Otabek seemed to know that, and used it to his advantage.

’'Cock sucking fuck, it was the yeast!” One of many discoveries as they made multiple recipes. Some were not so great, others were good, but not like his grandfathers. The fourth recipe was by far the closest, they even required the same egg wash his grandfather used. Three burned fingers, a flour covered Otabek and two sets of matching hair ties later, Yuri bit into another pirozhki from batch number four, saving the link Otabek send him on his phone. 

“They came out really good, Yurio.“

“I know, right? They are still no quite as good as Grandpas, but it’s close.” Enough to make him proud and happy. That’s all Yurio wanted, and this was a vast improvement over the shell filled dough of yesterday.

“Still not as good? His cooking must be impressive.”

“It is! I wish I could bring some. You’ll just have to try them for yourself, Grandpa would make extra.”

Otabek worried his lip, a gesture Yurio didn’t see often. 

“Yurio, are you inviting me to Moscow? To meet your grandfather?”

Fair features could darken no further, Yurio sputtering. "Uh– I…I…I mean, if you…are in Moscow you should…uhm…”

Otabek would only ever go to Moscow to see him, and judging by the gentleness glossing his features, he knee exactly what Yurio meant. Yurio huffed, arms folding over his chest. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. I mean, he should meet you. Right?” That was what boyfriends did, eventually. Even ones three years older, with endless reserves of patience as deep as the dark pools he had for eyes.


End file.
